


adrift

by orphan_account



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, things ended up getting a lil sexual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-05-20 06:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14889179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: tumblr request: "i'd rlly like to see connor being a shy mess and having no idea what to do and markus is really patient and just.. yeah"





	1. lost

 

Markus knows how his people see him. As their leader—strong, brave and always, always _there_. An anchor. Never frail, never weak.

 

But he sometimes. . . well. He sits down, sometimes. He sits down and looks and looks and thinks for some time and these minutes are so rare, that he doesn’t even know what to think about. Then, he thinks about the hopefulness in his people’s eyes, the relieved smiles that he sees and all of them are enough to push him forward but. But.

 

Sometimes. Sometimes he just wants to leave. Back to Carl’s place. Back in time.

 

As his servant— _no_ , as his son or. . .

 

He feels tired. He wants to let go. He thinks about painting and how it felt so good; to finally let his emotions emerge from a black hole that he tried so hard not to destroy.

 

“Markus,” a voice calls him. Probably North, or Simon.

 

He lets all the thoughts wander off. He stands up.

 

He simply stops thinking after that.

 

…

 

Connor doesn’t know what to do. After becoming a deviant, this. . . _feeling_ became very familiar and while it is very frustrating, it is refreshing as well. To not always have an order at the back of his mind, controlling his every step.

 

Breaking down the wall had been so easy and had felt so, so good.

 

But now. Now he feels lost. Lost in a way he doesn’t completely understand.

 

He tries to help people. Tries to stop the rising protests against their newly-found freedom. But when he has nothing to do, he feels adrift. Like he’s less a living being and more a machine awaiting a new program.

 

Those times, he feels scared. Sits down, tries to feel something— _anything_ , but ends up feeling empty again. Again and again and again.

 

 _A living being,_ Markus’ voice echoes in his mind.

 

Feelings, he realizes, are hard.

 

…

 

First time Markus sees Connor in his sitting spot, the balcony on a new place all the androids from Jericho share, he freezes. But before he can even react Connor stands up and mutters out a ‘ _sorry_ ’ and leaves. Markus simply. . . doesn’t understand.

 

The next time, when he sees Connor in that particular spot again, he doesn’t let him stand up. He sits down next to him.

 

“I thought you sitting here was more of a routine rather than an act of impulse,” Connor tells him, as if that explains everything. He rubs his hands together and looks very uncomfortable. “I’m very sorry for interrupting on your _free_ time.”

 

Markus gives him a tired smile, but Connor is determined not to meet his eyes.  “No, no—you’re not interrupting at all. Didn’t know you came here, too, though.”

 

Connor nods, but doesn’t say anything. Markus waits.

 

“This is all very. . . new to me. It’s very hard to adapt,” Connor looks at him finally and Markus sees a little sadness in his eyes but Connor doesn’t let him see any more than that. He turns his head and fixes his gaze on the sky, an emptiness filling his eyes this time, rather than sadness, which is much, much worse.

 

Markus doesn’t know what to say after that. Does he say, “You can tell me anything,” or “I feel the same emptiness,” or. . . He doesn’t know.

 

Instead he says, “The sky is very pretty tonight.”

 

Connor turns to him, then. Markus doesn’t look at him but he can feel the questioning gaze—but he continues. “You know; this feels even better with company.”

 

Markus turns his head, then, and sees Connor looking at the ground with a smile on his face.

 

Well, then.

 

…

 

After that, _they_ become a routine.

 

And Connor is happy about that. Happy to finally have a moment to look forward to, other than his weekly visits to Hank (and Sumo). And it’s good. It’s. . . really, really good.

 

Sometimes, he gets frustrated with himself because he doesn’t know how to act. But most times, sitting next to Markus and discussing anything at all makes him truly, finally feel like a living being, _capable of reason_ , as Markus says.

 

And sometimes, when the night is too quiet and too beautiful to ruin, they stare at each other.

Those times, Connor returns to being lost but this time the feeling doesn’t come with being unable to think and feel. Those times, the feeling comes with having _too much_ to think about. Like how he wants to be closer to him, how he wants to touch him and how the little distance between their seats feel like miles, miles, miles.

 

Those times, he wonders what Markus thinks.

 

…

 

When they were back in Jericho, when Connor was sent to kill him—everything felt rushed, uneven. Only the safety of his people, his friends were important. Everything else had lost its meaning, somehow. Only his people. Only.

 

He couldn’t look at Connor clearly, back then. He can, now.

 

He can see the light freckles on his cheek. He can see his expressive eyes—

 

(Which are pretty. So, so pretty. Even prettier than Carl’s paintings and even prettier than the night.)

 

—and he can see the curl of his lips. He looks at them a little longer, which freaks Connor out a little, he _knows_ but he can’t help himself.

 

He knows Connor is aware of his feelings. The unexpected, unfamiliar feelings that he developed over the course of their friendship. Of their shared memories on the balcony, both staring out into the night.

 

He stares at him. Stares at him until Connor smiles that soft smile and looks on the ground—a habit Markus finds endearing and. _And_.

 

Markus wants a lot of things in those moments. He wants to be closer. He wants to _touch_. He wants. . . he wants a lot of things.

 

But he can’t take the first step. He can’t.

 

…

 

Connor can’t take the first step. He can’t. He doesn’t know _how_.

 

What does he do? Does he simply touch him? Does he tell him how he makes him feel first? _What does he do?_

 

He asks Hank.

 

Hank, after asking him exactly four times if he’s serious and teasing him for about an hour, says, “Do whatever you want to do.” Which doesn’t help him at all.

 

But he thinks about it. Thinks about it when Markus is explaining to him how drawing makes him feel enthusiastically and thinks about it the other day when Markus is tired, looking at the night laid before them and thinks about it the day after. . .

 

He tries, once. Extends a hand forward, not knowing what to do with it after—and he sees Markus staying perfectly still, waiting for something to happen—but he lets it drop.

 

He doesn’t feel lost. He feels weak.

 


	2. afloat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus would describe both of them as a big, glorified mess right now. That’s the only way to explain all this pining they do, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ﾉ･ｪ･)ﾉ

 

Markus would describe both of them as a big, glorified mess right now. That’s the only way to explain all this pining they do, really.

 

It’s supposed to be _simple_ , like their attraction towards each other— _simple_. They didn’t start to feel this way after years and years of companionship. They both yearn for touch, perhaps. Maybe, and blame Carl for this particular sappiness, this is meant to be.  

 

Markus doesn’t believe that, of course. Not right now, at least. He just knows what he thinks of Connor. He just knows that he is a kind, nice man with issues; most of them connected to his new freedom. To his deviancy.

 

He knows he shouldn’t. . . _push_. He knows.

 

Still.

 

…

 

A few days after the awkward moment they both endured, Markus doesn’t arrive on the balcony. Connor waits—waits for an embarrassing amount and realizes how sitting here became less of him seeking quiet moments and more of him seeking Markus’ company.

 

It’s full moon. Connor sits quietly on his plush seat for a few minutes, basking in the moon’s light and thinks.

 

The night is beautiful but Markus isn’t there with him.

 

The night’s serene beauty becomes dull very quick.

 

…

 

“Here,” a sketchbook is pushed into his hands. “I bought it for you. It’s one of the fancy ones, I think.”

 

“North, you really didn’t have to—”

 

“Oh, shut up,” she pushes lightly at his shoulder. “It’s for your brooding.”

 

“Brooding,” Markus repeats. “ _Brooding_ —”

 

“You _brood_ —”

 

“Unbelievable—”

 

“—like, there’s always this pout—”

 

“—this is the ‘thanks’ I get—”

 

They bicker, like they always do, which lightens up Markus a little bit. North is always there whenever work gets too much, whenever the ache of all the responsibilities that are pushed towards him get unbearable. Markus never says _no_ , though. He can’t—not to his people, or to people in need of help in general.

 

Detroit is theirs now, which comes with even greater responsibilities than before. Protestants outside the city, people trying to get in, ‘anti-androids’ campaign never ending. . . and it’s tiring. It’s so damn tiring.

 

He looks at the sketchbook in his hands. It’s very thick and looks very expensive, like the one Carl used to sketch on when he watched TV.

 

Sadness rushes into his body and makes him shudder, but he goes on.

 

...

 

Markus doesn’t come to their spot for two weeks and it is _fine_.

 

He goes to Hank’s house, not to vent out his problems or anything—he goes there simply because he can and because going there will simply make him feel better.

 

Sumo greets him like always. He likes Connor but then again the dog seems to like everyone.

 

Sumo likes him more when he’s on the couch with him and even more when he’s rubbing his belly. Hank tells him that he’s spoiling him, but Connor doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Hank also teases him whenever he pitches his voice just a _little_ higher when he’s talking to Sumo, but again, Connor doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

 

“Alright, spill,” Hank says, when their ‘Sumo-loving session’ ends.

 

“Spill what?”

 

“Don’t play dumb with me, Connor. _Spill_.”

 

Connor gives him a blank stare, which makes Hank groan out loud. “Your, uh. . . your android boyfriend, or whatever,” he says, waving a hand. “Something happened, right?”

 

Connor visibly deflates, then. He looks back at Sumo, who is sleeping soundly next to him. He can see Hank cocking his head to the side from the corner of his eye. He shrugs. “Nothing happened,” he says. “Nothing.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Connor frowns at his friend, “What?”

 

“What?”

 

“What do you mean by ‘ _oh_ ’?”

 

“You’re upset because nothing happened,” Hank says.

 

Connor doesn’t have it in him to argue with him, nor does he have it in him to talk about it.

 

“I just don’t know what to do with these. . . _feelings_ , that’s all,” he tells him. Hank opens his mouth, no doubt to try to help him, but Connor immediately changes the subject.

 

It’s unimportant.

 

…

 

Markus fills the first page with Simon, Josh and North. He draws them differently—with unfamiliar clothes and expressions. . . just different, overall. It’s a challenge, to think of them in this way. Still, drawing feels good and with every brush of his pencil against the paper inspiration fills him and soon enough, the entire page is filled with their smiles, with their laughter, and with their tears.

 

He continues on with Carl and doesn’t stop for about three hours. Most of that time is him thinking about _what could have been_ and _what was he like_. He draws him laughing, with tears in his eyes. He draws him with his son—

 

(And his fingers shake, but he ignores it. _He goes on._ )

 

—and he draws him drawing. He draws him until it’s too much.

 

He thinks about Connor and excitement fills him when he thinks of how he could draw him; laughing, crying, smiling, relaxed with pleasure evident on his face—

 

An idea comes to his mind.

 

…

 

Connor tries not to react when he sees Markus approaching him on the balcony—though he hesitates on the windowed door. “Is something the matter?” Markus asks, which is very odd because Connor quite literally tried _hard_ not to let his emotions show, something that he is, frankly, an expert of.

 

“No?”

 

“It’s just. . . you looked—” Markus stops, opening his mouth and closing it like a fish gulping for air. “Never mind,” he sighs and sits next to him.

 

Connor stares at him, takes in all the new details. There’s not much, except for how tired Markus looks. _More_ tired.  

 

Markus stares back. Stares at his eyes, nose, his lips. Mostly at his lips.

 

Connor wants to be closer. Instead, he asks, “Where were you?”

 

Markus blinks, fixes his gaze on his eyes instead of his lips. “Huh?”

 

“You didn’t come for two weeks,” Connor says. “Did something happen?”

 

“Two weeks,” Markus murmurs. “Has it really been two weeks? Felt a lot shorter than that.”

 

“You must’ve been busy.”

 

“I was, yeah. We are thinking of allowing humans back into the city—”

 

Connor knew that already.

 

“—but you knew that already. North is. . . really, _really_ against it. As I’m sure you can imagine.”

 

Markus shakes his head and turns to the night, the stars. They both stare at them for a while and the uneasy atmosphere around them dissipates, leaving only them and their familiar routine. Connor feels relieved and still a little lost.

 

“North gave me a sketchbook this morning,” Markus breaks the comfortable silence. “I didn’t have much to do so I finally tried drawing again.”

 

“Was it like anything you thought it would be?”

 

“Oh,” Markus smiles widely. A human would describe it as ‘goofy’, perhaps. Nonetheless, Connor files the image away. “Even better. Would you like to see it?”

 

…

 

Connor looks at his sketches closely and gives his attention equally to all of them before turning to the next page but nearing the end, he becomes impatient, turning the pages faster; most probably looking for a drawing of himself. The thought makes him feel. . . _giddy_ , that Connor might be feeling a little jealous, to see North, Simon, Josh—but not himself.

 

He holds himself a little longer, which he is proud of, and waits patiently until Connor closes the book and extends it towards Markus with a carefully blank expression on his face. The corners of Markus’ lips are already twitching.

 

“Your drawings look spectacular,” Connor tells him, his voice devoid of any emotion. “And very unique.”

 

“Yes, well,” Markus says, and he has to turn his head in order to not downright laugh in Connor’s face. “The people that I choose to draw inspire me, really. They bring out that uniqueness.”

 

Connor’s left eye twitches.

 

Markus _snorts_.

 

…

 

Connor. . . doesn’t really know what to think.

 

…

 

“I wanted to draw you,” Markus tries to explain. “But I wanted it to be. . . more real, I think. I wanted to see you first.”

 

Connor eyes the sketchbook. Then, “Oh.”

 

“I want to draw you here,” Markus continues. “But I want you to relax first. To be comfortable.”

 

“But I _am_ comfortable,” Connor says, that soft smile finally forming on his face. “I am comfortable around you.”

 

Markus opens his mouth before he makes a fool out of himself—he feels like he’s on fire already. “More comfortable, then,” he says. Then, he finally—

 

(Finally. _Finally_.)

 

—touches Connor.

 

…

 

Connor felt a lot of things when he opened the sketchbook.

 

First, adoration. Then, jealousy, jealousy, _jealousy_ —and a voice inside him telling him that he’s unimportant. That whatever they are, only belongs in the night, in the balcony, with their plush seats that are too close yet too far.

 

Connor always had a hard time understanding levity.

 

Still, it’s alright. The relieved feeling that comes from Markus’ laughter and explanation makes him feel like he’s _floating_.

 

Then, the kind words come, making him feel useless with his twitchy hands and his never-ending _want_.

 

Luckily for both of them, Markus decides to take the first step. He rests a hand on Connor’s neck, does it so slowly that Connor thinks about slowing the time down, to see the emotions in Markus’ eyes clearer—but he decides against it. Markus’ thumb caresses jawline and Connor presses against his hand and fights against the urge of wanting to close his eyes. He wants to see.

 

…

 

Connor is an open book laid before him and it is so undeniably beautiful.

 

He wants to draw him just like this but he also never wants this to end.

 

Curious how a single, fleeting touch can make him feel like this—but Connor is so incredibly responsive that he can’t help but get bolder with his touches. Can’t help but stroke his thumb across Connor’s lips, can’t help but caress his hair with his other hand. He’s just _there_ , with his freckles and big, doe eyes and Markus can’t stop.

 

Which isn’t so bad, because Connor doesn’t look like he wants him to.

 

…

 

Connor forgets how they got here, with Markus’ thumb on his lips and with his hand in his hair. Connor forgets, but it all feels so good that he stops caring; something he rarely does.

 

He’s also unbelievably inexperienced in this. . . field, so he just stays like that for a little while until his instincts tell him to open his mouth.

 

So he does, and slowly watches the change in Markus’ eyes.

 


	3. wandering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor takes all of his concern away and pushes it aside and the fact that Markus trusts him enough to do that hurts a little bit because he doesn’t even know when he allowed himself to get this far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i'm so so so sorry to expand this AGAIN it's just i'm so busy bc of camp + schoolwork (i have this big exam at the end of the year) + everything else. (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )
> 
> i didn't want you guys to wait too much so have this lil thing before i finish the other part !! again sorry ilu thank y'all for the lovely comments

 

Everything after that becomes much more interesting. At least, that’s what he’d thought before he’d become deviant. Now, though, with his feelings so undeniably bare, he feels the tension around them, whenever they are together or whenever their eyes meet or—

 

Hank made Connor watch a lot of movies after the whole deviant business. Connor hadn’t thought it necessary at first. Now he _sees_.

 

He remembers the girl in her own apartment acting very strange, dancing and screaming and crying—

 

(“ _Why_?”

 

“Because she’s drunk?”

 

“You certainly weren’t like this when you were _drunk_.”

 

“I am _old_ , Connor.”)

 

—and he remembers himself, his tongue darting out between his lips and taking Markus’ thumb in his mouth. _This must be what being drunk feels like_ , he remembers thinking.

 

He doesn’t really want to forget the night. _No_ , he doesn’t. It’s just too much, sometimes. Especially when he is sitting on the couch in Hank’s apartment, with his hand stroking Sumo’s fur and when he’s _thinking_. Thinking is scary, he realizes those times—and not for the first time. It’s frightening, really, to think and. . . to _remember_.

 

“I don’t think I could’ve lived with that memory of you androids,” Hank tells him one day. “Imagine that, I mean you obviously _don’t_ have to, since you already know what it’s like but— _man_. Remembering every part of your life? I mean, what happens if you embarrass yourself?”

 

Connor had told him how an android could delete a memory file if they’d wished but _that’s beside the point_ because remembering _every_ little detail in every moment you live, it’s frightening and Connor can’t let the memory go away, too. Can’t not hear his own voice asking Markus that stupid question and can’t not remember his own eyes closing, his body shivering despite its no need for it—

 

…

 

That night on the balcony, that big, too big memory seems like it happened ages ago but it’s been only two weeks and Markus can’t even remember the nights after it clearly.

 

Well, he _can_ but it’s filled with uncomfortable silences with them being unsure of what to do with each other and the tension had been overwhelming sometimes only because it’s a different kind of tension—the tension that doesn’t make you stiffen, make you cautious. No, it’s the type of tension humans who are attracted to each other feel. It’s the type of tension he once felt around North.

 

He knows he shouldn’t compare himself—and all the other androids—to the humans but. Well.

 

 _That night_ , though. Markus doesn’t know what to do. He really, really doesn’t. _And_ he feels like he’ll explode under the scrutiny of North’s knowing gaze.

 

They. . . they didn’t even _kiss_.

 

Markus isn’t even sure what they are now, after that night. It feels like they _should_ change, of course. After Connor taking Markus’ thumb in his—

 

After Markus telling him that he’s a mystery, that he’s the first person he doesn’t know how to draw—

 

And Connor asking if that’s a good thing. Markus assuring him that _yes_ , it’s a very good thing, he just needs to _explore_ him. After, when he sees the unfamiliar emotion in those pretty eyes, his hands fucking _tremble_ but then, as if that wasn’t enough, Connor is whispering to him, like they aren’t alone under the moon’s soft light, ‘ _how would you explore me?_ ’

 

“Brooding,” North mutters, which actually makes Markus flinch.

 

“Who. . .  what?”

 

“You’re _brooding_ ,” she tells him, with her famous arched eyebrow. He even drew her like that. “What’s going on?”

 

“I don’t _brood_ —”

 

“Not this again,” she cuts him off and it works this time, unlike the fifty or so arguments about Markus’ _brooding_ (which is ridiculous) habits before. “I’ll ask you one more time. What’s going on?”

 

Markus wants to tell her. Really, really wants to tell but doesn’t know how to _explain._ He and Connor weren’t really that close to begin with and except for the ‘balcony nights’ that started everything, they aren’t even seen together because of their busy jobs.

 

North would be surprised, probably. Hell, even _he_ is surprised. Then she would tell him that it’d be good for his brooding.

 

(She uses that word a lot nowadays. He even saw a note on his computer, that he never uses, that said ‘ _try not to brood while I’m away’._)

 

“Markus,” North says, softly this time, interrupting his usual ramblings in his mind. “You know you can share whatever you have in that always-busy mind of yours.”

 

“I know,” he smiles and tries to be reassuring. “It’s complicated.”

 

She rolls her eyes at that, “Isn’t everything?” Which is. . . fair.

 

But then Josh enters the room with poorly concealed concern in his eyes and the matter is temporarily forgotten.

 

…

 

Connor knows he shouldn’t get used to this feeling, even though it is expected of him. He has no shackles, no ‘master’ to report back to. . . but still. It is a refreshing, albeit unusual feeling, even after all these months.

 

The thing is, he _did_ get used to this calmness the city brings, even after humans get back to the city, even after the police force is reestablished and even after everything is back to feeling the same, only with much more order, (oddly) brought by the strange alliance between androids and humans.

 

But, as soon as the city gets back to whatever it was before, problems arise. Which isn’t surprising, no—it’s just a hard slap across his cheek, like a wake-up call, reminding him how this isn’t a fairy tale with romantic nights out on the balcony, how it never really was.

 

“The minute they get back into Detroit,” Hank mutters out and it _is_ a little funny to see him like this, complaining about _humans_ , of all things. “I’m surprised they aren’t hauling’ their asses out of here as we’re talkin’.”

 

“Maybe the problem isn’t the humans,” Connor responds because no matter how hard he tries, the deviant-hunter in him will always try to find the fault in his own kind. “Maybe there is a community out there that hates this alliance. Bringing the humans in _does_ make it official.” 

 

Hank gives him a look.

 

“Just a thought, Lieutenant.”

 

Turns out, Connor is right—though he doesn’t feel the usual joy in being correct about his assumptions this time. Jeffrey Howler looks as bad as he feels. 

 

It _is_ a difficult situation. Normally, dealing with deviants was easy. Charge, kill or capture, bring back in to search for faults in their programming. But now, they are considered as _civilians_.

 

Connor just wonders about what Markus feels about this.

 

…

 

Markus is _furious._

 

“I’m going with them,” he declares and glares to anyone who tries to disagree. It works until his eyes land on North. “North, I _am_.”

 

“This is different, Markus,” North tells him in that annoying, calm tone. “They are angry at _us_ , now. You’d have no mutual ground with them.”

 

“We can’t. . . we can’t just—let the police _handle_ it!”

 

“Markus,” Josh interrupts softly. “Let’s not forget that Connor is in there, too. He wouldn’t allow. . . anything bad.”

 

“Anything like what?”

 

“Like murder,” he says, making Markus scoff.

 

“And why not let the police handle it?” North joins in. “We let them into our city for a reason. To show our trust.”

 

“Since when do you feel such comradeship towards humans—”

 

“It’s what you made us believe in, _you idiot_ —”

 

“This is different!”

 

“How is it differ—”

 

“ _Guys_ ,” Josh says, loudly, which silences them both because Josh and noise is a rare pair.

 

North’s gaze doesn’t falter but Markus relents after a few seconds.

 

After Josh leaves and the tension becomes bearable, North squeezes his shoulder and tells him, “Not everyone’s like us, Markus. Not everyone’s willing to forget.”

 

“I know,” Markus whispers back in return. “It just feels like I let them down.”

 

“They’ll have to learn how to live with it.” She squeezes harder. Markus knows she’s trying to console herself as much as him—she has scars deeper than his, deeper than most people on the base. “They’ll have to understand that this is the only way without war.”

 

“And war is murder.”

 

“And war is murder,” North gives one last squeeze and leans back. “And that’s not acceptable.”

 

She’s not the woman he met in the old, sunken Jericho base—not the woman who only wanted vengeance and human-blood.

 

Seeing her as she is right now gives him courage.

 

…

 

Markus is pacing on the balcony when he arrives. And the balcony is very small—it is evident that it frustrates Markus that it is and the sight before him would’ve been funny, if he didn’t know the cause of it.

 

“Connor,” Markus says his name softly, but his eyes are steel. “Hey.”

 

“Hi,” he replies, which makes Markus smile a little and in return, releases some of the tension of his own shoulders. “You heard?” Which is a stupid question, of course, but still.

 

Markus sits down, “Of course I heard.”

 

Connor hesitates at first but sits down next to him nonetheless. The distance between them is very short, as usual, and their knees touch and while it still makes his whole body feel weird, the matter at hand is urgent and Connor doesn’t even know how to approach the topic, let alone talk about it with detail.

 

“It is. . . a very difficult situation,” he says, which makes him feel like an idiot.

 

Markus huffs, “I should come with you.”

 

“That would be very stupid,” he says. “You are the one they’re against. They feel as if you’ve betrayed them.”

 

Which is, he finds out, is a wrong thing to say because Markus lets his head drop on his hands and shakes his head, murmuring words that Connor doesn’t make himself focus to hear. He curses at himself first, then tentatively puts his hand on Markus’ arm and strokes it as gently as he can.

 

He is _very_ bad at this but Markus being sad because of his unthoughtfulness is the very last thing he wants.

 

“It’s not your fault,” he says then, while continuing his awkward stroking. “You’ve done the impossible, Markus. You brought them— _us_. You brought us the freedom we didn’t even know existed.”

 

Markus lifts his head a little.

 

“I admire you so much,” Connor whispers. And then, very hesitantly, places a kiss on his cheekbone. Which makes Markus lift his head completely and stare at him, his expression completely unreadable, even to a detective like _him_.

 

(Or maybe he just chooses not to look too deeply. There are few moments in Connor’s life when he completely lets the time flow its course.)

 

A lot of thoughts worm their way into his mind, then, but he carefully pushes them away and holds himself very still, as Markus lifts his hand and strokes his cheek and it all feels so familiar—only Connor doesn’t let his nerves deter him this time. He closes his eyes and leans into his hand, turns his face a little to kiss it. It would be easier, perhaps, to kiss him on the mouth but he doesn’t really know how to proceed with that and.

 

And _fuck it_ , it feels good to be close with him like this.

 

…

 

Connor takes all of his concern away and pushes it aside and the fact that Markus trusts him enough to do that hurts a little bit because he doesn’t even know when he allowed himself to get this far.

 

He kisses Connor on his forehead, then on his cheek, then kisses the corner of his mouth and stops there. Feels Connor’s hands tighten on his shoulders—when did they get there he doesn’t even know—and feels his own hands on Connor’s neck, feels the soft skin there, feels so much—

 

He brushes his nose against his and murmurs, “I trust you.”

 

Connor nods at that, “I’ll be careful not to hurt them, I promise, I—”

 

Markus kisses the corner of his lips, again, and then moves to his jawline. “I trust you,” he repeats and he knows those words have a different, deeper meaning than that but he can’t make himself say it, maybe because it is too soon or maybe because he’s a coward but he hopes that Connor gets it because shit, he is _shaking_.

 

“Come back to me safely,” he says, then, making Connor chuckle. “I’ll draw you.”

 

“I thought you didn’t know how to draw me,” Connor tells him cheekily.

 

Markus brushes his lips on his neck lightly, feels the hitch of his breath more than he hears it and says, “I’ll find a way, trust me.”

 

“You said you had to explore me, first.”

 

Oh. _Oh._

 

Markus finally lets his lips touch Connor’s neck and allows his tongue to dart between his lips. Connor lets out a breathy laugh at that and it can honestly be the most beautiful sound Markus has ever heard or maybe, just maybe, he is about to go crazy because of his lust for this man.

 

“It’s funny how we always end things like this,” Markus says after he withdraws enough to meet Connor’s gaze. “I want to do so much, yet—”

 

They both stay silent after that for a few seconds, before Connor’s LED flickers and his eyebrows furrow.

 

…

 

 _I want to do so much, yet_ —

 

Connor wanted to say a lot of things after that, prepared himself to say it even. Prepared to tell him how he understood him, how every day he thought of him, of these nights, of his warm touch.

 

But he couldn’t. He only looked into his mismatched eyes and waited for a small amount of courage to sway him forward.

 

“ _Connor, are you listening to me, because—”_

“I heard you, Lieutenant,” he responds curtly, not breaking the eye contact between him and Markus. “I won’t be late.”

 

Hank hesitates on the line. Markus leans back a bit.

 

Then, a sigh, “ _See that you won’t_.”

 

The line disconnects, leaving Markus and Connor to their reality.

 

“I assume you heard all of that,” Connor breaks the silence.

 

“No,” Markus shakes his head. “It was a private call. Would’ve been wrong.”

 

“Oh,” Connor looks out into the night. The fact that Markus is probably the kindest being on this wretched planet always makes him a little ill at ease. It’s obvious no one in this city deserves him. “The deviants—”

 

Markus’ posture tenses immediately, “The _protesters_ , Connor,” he interrupts sharply.

 

“My apologies,” Connor says quickly. _Old habits die hard_ , he thinks, but keeps the thought to himself. “The protesters started their activities in Grand Rapids. No killing so far, only mildly injured policemen and some civilians. Their. . . _campaign_ disagrees with your actions and swears to, and I quote, ‘make humans live the pain they’ve made us go through’.”

 

Markus groans, “What more do they want? We have Detroit. The _president_ herself wanted this alliance.”

 

“The support of it, however, is slow to spread across the States. Even Michigan,” Connor tells him softly, reminding himself that the person in front of him isn’t just anyone, it’s _Markus_. “Never mind the whole world.”

 

“We didn’t think it’d be _easy_ ,” Markus says. “Or fast.”

 

“I know,” Connor says. “But their protests aren’t only against you. They are against China and Russia as well.”

 

“And what the hell would their _protests_ would accomplish against them?” Markus groans again. “What are they thinking?”

 

“They are stupid?”

 

“They are _scared_ ,” Markus says with obvious concern, though his lips stretch into a smile. “Just—Just make them see reason. _Please_.”

 

“I promise you,” Connor tells him, with, hopefully, dedication clear in his eyes. He knows he shouldn’t promise anything, he _knows_ , but a good proportion of his mind shuts off whenever they are like this.

 

Then the familiar silence comes again, like an old friend’s greeting and the night’s serenity embraces them once more—with Connor’s hand in Markus’, somehow making its way in there without both of them knowing.

 

…

 

Connor leaves after an hour of mindless sitting and Markus sees that it’s clear from his body language that he needs to replenish his energy. They both know it’s not a farewell or anything dramatic like that but Markus embraces him tightly anyway.

 

Connor freezes at first at the contact but his arms go around him after the brief pause without hesitation. Markus kisses his temple, then, and repeats the words ‘ _come back to me_ ’. Connor leaves and Markus is left to his own obsessively incessant thoughts.

 

“ _Markus,_ ” North’s voice comes through their shared network. “ _Are you alright?”_

Markus shuts his eyes because _North knows him so damn well_ and the affection that he feels for her makes his chest feel tight. “I am fine, North,” he responds at last. “I’ll go to sleep in a few minutes.”

 

“ _They leave Detroit tomorrow morning, at 6 a.m.”_

“That’s. . . early.”

 

“ _Yeah,_ ” she says. Her words become a little slurred. “ _Thought you should know._ ”

 

“Go to sleep, North,” he says as he stands up. “It’ll be fine.”

 

“ _I know_ ,” she tells him. “ _Goodnight_.”

 

“Goodnight.”

 

“ _Try not to brood in your sleep_.”

 

“Oh, that’s just hilarious.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> gimme prompts [here](https://beemay.tumblr.com/ask)


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